by Roxana Valentino
Illustrations by Carson Blumen-Green


To some extent,
I feel like a ghost of a past self.

The echoing off the walls
of my head
emphasize a new-found loss
of calamity.
Awaken and quiet
the cacophony.

Forcing myself into a haze,
swallowing a metallic taste.

Slightly because I’ve lost myself inside the daze
Enveloped in the fog,
I linger around as time blows away with days.

Where can I go?

To breathe.
And be.
And de-

compose myself.


I float above old self.

               A bent spine.


I never failed to claim it as mine.


I see it from below.


oh (wo)man,